


Familiarity

by glitchfics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchfics/pseuds/glitchfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay here we go my dudes; I asked for Marvel prompts, and wonderful Dorian (@opossum-kid on tumblr) delivered! I’m gonna combine two of them a do a lil fic!! If you like Steve and Bucky and you're trash, this is for you.</p>
<p>"Steamy…. s ex…. after a night out with the boys….. and they are tired and soooo into each other then the next morning they realize what happened and bashfully plan a date"<br/>"person A finding person B has been taking photos/writing in their journal/doodling person A with hearts around them"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this to tumblr: http://prollygonnacry.tumblr.com/post/147151436616/marvel-prompts-stucky  
> If you like it and you have an account, feel free to go reblog or like!
> 
> Thank you to anyone who reads my stuff!

“Night, Steve! Bucky.”

“Night!” Steve waved his hand over his shoulder at Sam as he disappeared into his doorway.

Bucky sighed and jammed his hand into his pocket, nudging at Steve’s broad shoulder with enough force to knock a normal man over. “Now I have _the_ Captain America all to myself. What should I do first?” He dulled the Brooklyn edge of his words with a lazy drawl.

Fingers brushed impeccably-kept blond hair as he fixed a few strands. Steve looked down at the ground when he felt heat threatening to rise in his cheeks. He cleared his throat and nudged Bucky back. “And you are tipsy. You’re going to bed, and you’re going to wake up with your head on straight.”

Bucky stumbled when Steve bumped him, the cool metal of his hand reaching for something to steady himself.

He offered his arm wordlessly.

“‘Head on _straight_ ’. Thanks, mom.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I never thought you had the best handle on sarcasm.”

“You know what? I think you’re right. I have no understanding of sarcasm.” Usually he reveled in their banter; it evoked memories of happier times, easier times. But right now his entire train of thought had swirled down into a pinpoint because Bucky hadn’t let go. _He hadn’t let go._ He’d reached for Steve’s arm when he stumbled and now the smooth, mechanical bulk of his hand was still there - still gripping. It had slid up to his bicep, and they were walking like that, walking together. He told himself that it was just because Bucky was too inebriated to remember to pull it away, or that he still needed it to keep his footsteps straight. Whether or not that made sense - because it didn’t - it was easier to convince himself that none of this was any more than it really was. _Bucky wasn’t a forgetful drunk._ Stop, Steve. _Bucky hadn’t even had that much to drink. Maybe two._ Stop thinking, Steve. And he was very good at not thinking about it. He’d been doing it since they were teenagers.

Bucky was staying with him for a while; Steve had managed to convince him of that much. He reached across his front with his left hand to pull the key to his apartment from his right pocket; he was that loathe to pull his arm from the grasp that had butterflies spiraling in his stomach. And he was all too aware of how close Bucky was to him, how if he took another step-and-a-half their bodies would be flush.

Goodness gracious. Pull it together. He took a deep breath in through his nose.

Once they stepped inside, the hand fell away from him, and tension that he didn’t know he was clinging to slid from his body.

“Alright, go get some sleep. I’ll bring you a glass of water.”

Bucky nodded as he kicked off his boots by the door and shuffled down the back hall towards their bedrooms.

_This_ Steve was used to. He could do _this_. The looking after, the tending to. Water lapped at the sides of the glass as he walked over to the guest bedroom and peered in. It was empty, the bed still unmade from that morning. “Bucky? Bucky?” Alarm swelled in his chest.

“In here. Don’t lose your head.”

Floorboards creaked quietly when he took a few steps down the hall and into his room. When he saw Bucky, he almost looked up at the ceiling and said a prayer. He bent over to set the glass on the bedside table, swallowing quickly.

He was laying across Steve’s bed with his arms behind his head, the hem of his shirt hiked up to his navel. “Remember when we’d do this?”

“Do what?”

A hand patted the bed, and Steve sat down beside him.

“Lay down. Look up. Relax. Together.”

He laid back too. “Yeah, I remember.”

Two pairs of blue eyes traced the shadows that the lamplight cast across the ceiling.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice was soft.

The bed creaked, and Steve didn’t notice until too late that it was the man lying next to him rolling onto his side and reaching into the drawer of a bedside table. _The_ drawer. It held notebooks, letters, and anything else that made him remember.

“Bucky, don’t.” He reached over, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Fingers sped through pages of entries, photos, drawings, everything.

Steve watched with his heart in his throat.

Those fingers stopped on a more recent page, tracing over some of the drawings in the margins. Drawings of Bucky. Bucky, young - the rest of his face just starting to grow into his features. Bucky, his hair slicked back and his hat tucked smartly over his head. Bucky, tresses long and lank, framing his face. And finally, Bucky, lines furrowing his brows even as he slept.

“You always did have a talent,” he murmured.

“Yeah. Well, ah-”

“I knew it.”

Steve felt panic squeeze his heart.

“You always looked too closely.”

He kept his face blank, staring at the ceiling. _They’re just drawings_ he wanted to say. _It’s nothing._ But he didn’t. Part of him wanted Bucky to know, wanted to stop inking his feelings into a little paper book and tucking them away.

“Nothing wrong with it.” Bucky set the notebook down. “It’s okay, really.” His fingers twitched against Steve’s. “Really.” He took his hand and rubbed gentle circles into it with his thumb.

The panic ebbed from his consciousness, and confusion rose in its place. “What?”

Bucky balanced on his elbow and brought Steve’s hand to his chest. He bowed his head until their faces were only inches away from each other.

He was breathless. “What?”

“You know, if I could draw, I’d be drawing you too.”

_What?_ Steve felt like a kid again. Felt his sparrow chest rising with each anticipatory breath. Felt his heart hammering against his ribs. Felt small compared to Bucky. His hand fisted against his chest; a heart beat against his knuckles. He noticed that Bucky wasn’t as collected as he seemed. Not with the way that muscle in his chest was fluttering.

The moment that hung between the word “too” and when they actually started kissing felt infinitely longer than it was. Blue eyes had time to trace the familiar planes of the other’s face before locking.

Steve let himself be eased into it, let Bucky set the pace. At first they were almost chaste - soft and brief. His eyes flickered closed and his other hand rose to cup Bucky’s face. The stubble prickled, but he reveled in the sensation. It was him. This was real. The rasp of hair against his palm only confirmed that.

“More,” he breathed.

And Bucky obliged him. He rolled over top of Steve and straddled his hips. His lips parted like heady, blooming rose petals. “That enough?”

“Mmm.” He wanted to taste Bucky, wanted to taste all of him. Hands skimmed Bucky’s sides and gripped at his hips. The forks of their legs brushed. Steve felt sharp, hot arousal flower in the pit of his stomach. Every detail of the man in his arms was hyper-realistic, and everything else was blurred and out-of-focus.

Bucky laid across his chest and gave a slow roll of his hips, his back arching lazily like a cat in the sun. His hands slid up into blond hair. “Want to mess your hair up so goddamn bad.” His voice was rough with lust.

Ripples of sparking sensation rushed his scalp. “Language.”

“Fuck,” he growled, stretching the word like putty.

“Langua-” Steve sucked a breath in through his nose when Bucky pushed his arousal into the crook of his hip. His thigh trembled with tension.

Rose petal lips roamed the column of Steve’s throat, drinking him in. “You need to let yourself feel things.” One of his hands touched at his thigh. “Relax.”

“Oh, I’m feeling… things.”

Bucky laughed. “Do you want to feel more?”

“Yes. Please.”

He sat up and slid back onto Steve’s thighs. His fingers caught at the front of his jeans. “So polite.” The button. “You always were.” The zipper. “Same old Steve.” The jeans, pushed down and kicked off. A hand, palming and cupping the front of his underwear. “Same Steve that I loved then.”

“And now?” His brow was knit in pleasure.

Bucky bent down to press a kiss to the dusting of ultra-blond hair that lay in between the shallow bowl of his hips. “Yep.” He pulled boxer briefs down over the hard swell of Steve’s arousal.

“What are you going to do?”

“Make you feel real good.”

He balled his hands at his sides around fistfuls of the covers beneath them. “Have you… done this before?”

Bucky smiled and looked up at him, his blue eyes molten with desire. “Steve Rogers, asking someone to kiss and tell?”

“You're right, sor-” And then Bucky’s mouth was around him, warm and real and extremely capable. His hips bucked as he felt tongue laving over his sensitive head. “Oh, oh.” Steve’s brain was sparking with peaks of pleasure. His body felt too warm, too alive. And it was the best thing he'd ever felt. He rested a hand on top of Bucky’s head when the other man took him deeper, into his throat.

It wasn't until Bucky swallowed around him that Steve moaned. “Bucky, please. Please.” He could feel his body building up; the intensity of the sensation was mounting. His hips began arching up to meet the slickness of parted lips each time Bucky bobbed his head. His fingers knotted in soft, brown strands. His chest reverberated with soft moans. “Will you look at me? I'm-” He was so close.

Bucky pulled off, curling his tongue up excruciatingly slowly. “Want me to look at you?”

“Yes, yes.”

“While I swallow you?”

His cheeks warmed. “Please.”

Bucky didn't let him down. As Steve’s pleasure began to peak, he took him back into his mouth, his eyes tracing the strong, clenching jaw and the brows tipped up in ecstasy as he did so.

Steve had one hand in Bucky’s hair and the other gripping the bed at his side. His hips bucked as the pleasure that had taken root inside him bloomed and sent a shockwave through his body. Every time he thought it was over, every time he began to circle his hips in exhaustion as he came down, another pulse sent goose flesh racing down his arms.

After, he felt warm and fluid, like his joints had loosened. His legs were splayed, his chest heaving as he looked down at Bucky with half-lidded eyes. “That was…” He shook his head. “Amazing.”

Bucky moved up and laid across Steve’s chest again, kissing him so deeply that he could taste himself. “You're even better than I imagined.”

He rubbed the small of Bucky’s back. “You thought about this?”

“I told you. If I could draw, I'd draw you too.”

Steve smiled and kissed him. “I want to make you feel good too.” He voice was quiet in the air that hung in between them.

“You can.” Bucky’s lips drifted to his ear. “I want to be inside you.”

Arousal threatened to surge back when he felt those words, warm against his ear. “Okay,” he murmured. “But I want your clothes off too. I feel funny.” _Funny is right_ he thought as he felt the bulge in Bucky’s pants pressing against him.

Teeth gleamed softly as Bucky grinned. “Deal, Rogers.” He stood up and pulled off his shirt, shucking his pants down to his ankles so that he could step out of them.

Steve reached over and snagged the waistband of his underwear. “These too.”

“Of course.”

He couldn’t pull his eyes away, tracing the familiar lines of his body.

Bucky straddled him and pushed his hands up Steve’s torso, carrying the t-shirt with them. “Now this.”

Hands closed around Bucky’s wrists as he caught them and hesitated.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

It felt odd taking his shirt off with Bucky there. He'd had this body for decades, but sometimes it still didn't feel like his own. Especially with someone who'd known him longer while he was still knock-kneed and skinny than they had while he was… like this.

“I've seen you naked before, Steve.”

“Not together like this.”

Bucky slid his hands back down and rubbed at his hips. “What are you worried about?”

“Losing you again,” he whispered. “Can't do it again.”

“You won't.”

“Okay.”

And the shirt came off, Steve looking away and trying to conceal his nerves, Bucky looking down and tracing each pack of muscle with adoration in his eyes. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Bad.”

“I don't think I'm moving out anytime soon.”

“And the good?”

“I don't think you're going to drive me away with your body.” His fingers roamed Steve’s abdominals lightly. “Definitely not.”

“They both sound pretty good to me.”

Bucky laughed and crawled across the bed. “Do you have anything? For - eh - assistance?”

Steve covered his eyes and groaned. “Bottom drawer. Little bottle.”

“You know it would be more efficient if you had a bigger bottle. You wouldn't have to go back to the store so much for these little ones,” he teased.

“Shut up.”

“Ooh, how you wound me.” He slicked his fingers and parted Steve’s legs further, pushing his middle finger up against his entrance lightly. “You have to relax.”

“I'm trying.”

Bucky rubbed the inside of one thigh slowly until the taut play of his body loosened. He pushed in slowly, curling his finger and watching the way it made Steve’s breathing pick up.

They kept going like that. Bucky, working him open a finger at a time, stopping every so often to add more lube and get him to relax. Steve, hiking one leg over Bucky’s shoulder to open himself wider while he tried to keep tension from sliding back into his muscles.

“Are you ready?”

“I think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Steve reminded himself to relax when he felt Bucky press himself against him. He panted shallowly as Bucky filled him; it felt wrong. His body was tight again, his fingers twitching anxiously. “Wait.”

“Tell me what's wrong.”

“Doesn't feel right. It hurts.”

He slowly pulled out the little that he'd gotten in. “Do you want to try a different way?”

“Yes.”

Bucky rose up on his knees and had Steve roll onto his stomach. “I'll try to be gentle.”

“I know.”

This time, it felt right. Incredibly right. He could feel the warm bulk of Bucky laying on top of him, could feel the strength of his thighs alongside him. One arm was pinned beneath his chest. The other he bowed his face into as he arched his back for Bucky.

“Good?”

He nodded.

“I need verbal confirmation, Captain.”

“Perfect,” he said hoarsely.

“That's what I like to hear.”

They were slow at first, lazily rocking into each other, finding a rhythm. Among other things, apparently. The moment Bucky found the spot, the bundle of nerves with the ability to completely undo a man, Steve curled his toes and moaned shakily into his bicep.

“There, there. Yes, there.”

Bucky picked up the pace just to hear him stammer, just to watch him squirm.

“Right there.” His fingers tapped an irregular tattoo on the covers. “Don't stop.”

“I won't.”

Bucky reached for Steve’s hand and stilled it. He threaded his fingers through, holding his hand as he rolled his hips into him.

He looked behind him. He wanted to see Bucky’s face. Was he feeling the same way? Did he feel deliciously overheated and alive? Like every nerve was three times stronger, every intake of breath and helpless moan three times louder? He wanted him to feel that.

Steve arched further against Bucky, squeezing around his length. “Does that feel good?” He brought Bucky’s hand to his lips.

“Holy- You're-” He buried his face into Steve’s shoulder. “Yes. So good.”

They went until Bucky was almost trembling in pleasure and exhaustion. Until with each thrust he breathed Steve’s name into his ear. Until his fingers were gripped tight around Steve’s because he was so close, so goddamned close.

Steve flipped them over and rode Bucky, his hands braced against his chest as the bed creaked in subtle complaint.

“I want to wait for you.” Bucky’s voice was rough.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “‘You need to let yourself feel things’.”

His laugh was husky. “Touché.”

And Bucky did. His core tensed as he gripped Steve’s hips tightly. Metal fingers were strong enough to press purple bruises into supple skin. He tipped his head back, exposing a bobbing Adam’s apple as waves of pleasure wracked his body.

Steve watched the man beneath him reach his crescendo, sighing contentedly as he began to rock himself down from orgasm.

“Good?”

“Too good. Great.”

Bucky lay there, his body lax, muscles twitching with residual electricity. “Let me see.”

“What?”

“Up on your knees.”

Steve listened, inhaling sharply when he felt slickness drip from him.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes,” he murmured, ears burning. “You could've warned me.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Bucky teased.

Steve laid down next to him on his side, resting a hand on his chest. His eyes fluttered shut, and they slid open lazily when he felt fingers wrap around him.

“You don't have to.”

“We’re going to have to clean up anyways.”

He yawned and pushed his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “I'm tired.”

“Okay.”

Steve felt Bucky get up and leave, presumably to mop himself off with a towel and leave it on the bathroom floor. Once he returned, strong arms snaked around him drowsily as Steve pulled him close and buried his face in the nape of his neck.

“Don't you want covers?”

“I think we’ll be fine.”

The next time Bucky spoke, he didn't get a response other than light snoring.

“Grandpa,” he yawned.

\---

The next morning was something else entirely. Steve was up at the crack of dawn, as per usual. He couldn't tell whether or not he should kiss the sleeping Bucky, but he pressed his lips to his forehead before he left for his run.

While he ran, he thought. Thought about the reassuring familiarity of being with Bucky. Thought about the way it felt to be so consumed by and with someone. Thought for a moment it didn't happen. Thought Bucky would wake up alone and start thinking too. Start thinking that it was a mistake, that it shouldn't have happened. Start thinking that it would ruin a friendship that had already endured so much.

He thought his way back to his apartment, up the stairs, and through the front door.

Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table, paper in hand, in a fresh change of clothes.

“I was going to do that thing where I wear your shirt, but it just didn't look as good on me and I got jealous.”

Steve looked at him carefully.

“It was a joke, Rogers.”

He walked into the kitchen, but he couldn't look away from Bucky.

“Stop staring at me. I too am fully aware of what we did. And I don't regret it either, so don't look at me like that.”

“What do we do now?”

“Well, I was a bit of a dog,” he said sheepishly.

“What?”

Bucky shook his head. “I should've taken you out before taking you straight to bed; no way for a gentleman to act.” He shrugged exaggeratedly. “I guess all there is to do is take you on one of my patented Bucky Barnes dates. Set this right.”

Steve smiled at him.

“Is that a yes?”

“That's a yes.”


End file.
